


Your Past For Years

by Clarice Chiara Sorcha (claricechiarasorcha)



Series: Cat & Bird [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Canon, fuck buddies, past meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 15:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13437327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claricechiarasorcha/pseuds/Clarice%20Chiara%20Sorcha
Summary: First impressionsdotend to last in all the best (worst) ways.





	Your Past For Years

**Author's Note:**

> So, I decided I was going to write a gingerpilot fic that branches off from the start of TLJ and goes to hell from there. And then promptly realised I would need to have a _history_ between these two fuckwits in order to make it work. Originally I was just going to explain it in the story itself, but then decided that NOPE, I was going to have to have a crack at the classic gingerpilot trope: these two assholes are sluts who totally hooked up long before canon got them where they are today.
> 
> In some ways, I worry that this story's a bit too similar to the one I published the other day, but...ah, what the hell. I came out here to have a good time and MAN I'm enjoying myself. Thank you so so much, by the by, if you read my other fic; I owe about a zillion comments in return, but be assured that a) I will get to replying soon and b) I love everyone in this bar. <3
> 
> Second installment in the story to come soon, hopefully; this is a one-part prologue, the next will be multi-chapter. God help us all.
> 
> Also, for kicks: the titles come from Anna Coddington songs/albums, because I was listening to [this song](https://annacoddington.bandcamp.com/track/underneath-the-stars) while writing, and...yep. That's it. That's the story.

Neither of them really needed all that much in the way of foreplay. They’d both come to the bar with the same idea, and both like what they’ve already seen. In Poe’s eyes, that alone had been more than enough to seal this particular deal. The fact that the redhead is proving to be rather the exceptional kisser, where they are pressed up against the wall of the elevator up to his room, is really just a freebie.

He must be on one of the better floors, too, because this ride seems to be taking forever. Poe’s not apt to complain about it, not with the guy’s hand already down the back of his pants, kneading his ass like he was born to seek out a few good holes to fuck. But he is getting a bit impatient to see as well as feel – and while he’s not above a bit of indecent exposure, outright public obscenity might land him in hot water back on base.

“Hey,” he says, and when the guy pinches his ass, “ _hey_.”

“What?” He’s leaning back, eyes the kind of blue that reminds him of smashed glasses and the burn of hard liquor. “Changed your mind so soon?”

“No,” Poe replies, and shifts his hips; it puts the man’s thigh squarely between his own, and a forceful jerk upward speaks of his dedication to this course of action. “But a name would be nice.”

“ _No_.” He’s yanked himself back, lips curled downward, eyes shuttered. “No names.”

The furrow in his own brow cuts deep enough Poe feels it somewhere low in his gut, too. “…then what I am supposed to call you?”

While they’re still close – and his erection isn’t going anywhere – the man has a sudden and striking distance upon his features, and Poe can feel golden opportunity sliding right out of his hands.

“I believe nothing will do.”

“Oh, no. _No_. You’re more than nothing.” Something like surprise flickers across the man’s eyes, smothered quicker than it appears. And Poe can’t help his smile, wild and wide. “I’m gonna call you Red.”

Irritation radiates clear from his every pore, and yet Red’s hands are still firmly down Poe’s trousers. “What? Why? Because of my hair?” Blowing out a short breath, he rolls his eyes, settles them on the top of Poe’s own head. “So what am I going to call you, then? _Black_?”

“Well.” He can’t help it, as falsely coy as anything else he’ll say to get a nice good anonymous shag. “I guess _Black Leader_ would be nice.”

“Oh, for kriff’s sake.” His hands abruptly pull back, and Poe’s about to call himself a bantha-born bloody idiot when Red’s fingers press either side of his face, yank him in close. “Pilot. I’ll call you _Pilot_.”

Pursing his lips actually helps Poe spare it as much thought as he can, given how much of his blood is currently in his dick rather than his brain. “...it’ll do. I guess.”

He almost snarls the words, “Oh, just _shut up_ ,” and it’s about halfway into a particularly brutal kiss that Poe finally realises the ride’s stretching out to eternity because Red had hit the emergency stop. But given he’s already going back in for more, he’s still really not complaining about any of this. At all.

Originally Poe had suggested they take it back to his room; for once he’s bunking alone, though when he’d booked the single it wasn’t like he’d expected not to share the bed. He just wouldn’t be doing it with one of his wingmates. Red had been particularly insistent that they go up to his, instead. Not much in the mood for arguing – the insistent rub of strong fingers along the inside of one thigh beneath the table muddled his argumentative side quite nicely – he’d gone along with it. And as they stumble in a tangle of limbs and lips through the doorway, he’s glad for it.

“Whoa.” He doesn’t bother to hide his wide gaze, even if it makes him look like an Outer Rim rube. “Nice digs, Red,” he adds, turning in endless observing circles. “What do you do for a living?”

A man after his own dick, Red’s already began to strip; Poe finds himself quickly focusing on that rather than the room. In the better light here, Poe notes that the man is indeed young, but not _that_ young. He can’t be much older than Poe, if not the same age.

“Engineer,” he says, clipped. “Flight and weapon systems, if you must know.”

“Well, no wonder I’m your type.” Insinuating himself close, Poe presses them together as he dips in for another kiss. “I bet you could give my ship a good workover, if you know what I mean.”

A thin smile, and Red shoves him back. “Only if you have the means to match my rates.” Shucking off his underwear, he frowns over at Poe’s boots. “And you’d be more my type if you lost the flightsuit.”

“Well, sure.” He’s a bit befuddled by the sudden onslaught of pale skin. “A good pilot comes naturally. Doesn’t need all the bells and whistles.”

“But he does need a ship.” Red actually snaps his fingers in Poe’s face. “And there’s no ship here.”

He looks up from his fascinated stare at Red’s hardening dick. “I can still take you higher than you’ve ever been before.”

A snort is followed by, “You’re not even out of the hangar, yet.” But Red himself is certainly getting there. Without his neat choice of clothing, he’s rail thin but not precisely scrawny; there’s strength in those long limbs, for all there’s a soft curve to his belly. It makes Poe want to get on his knees and rub his stubbled chin over it until Red says uncle, but he’s still just staring at him.

Red actually _tsks_. “You’re taking far too long.”

“That’s not usually a complaint I get,” Poe replies, amiable enough. It’s short work for him to undress anyway, though by comparison to Red it’s not an entirely efficient process. And the resultant pile of his clothes is entirely haphazard when one looks to the neat folded stack of Red’s own. Especially given Poe’s clothing is neat but worn, and Red’s look so well-cared for it could’ve been literally bought new that same day.

“I have some other ground rules.”

Poe pauses in kicking his jacket over his trousers. “You _are_ a fussy one, aren’t you?”

“Showers, first. I want you clean.” With a nod down at Poe’s own dick, he adds, “And I have stims.”

“Stims?” With hands up, Poe thinks he may have made a take-off even he can’t land. “Whoa, I know we’ve had a few drinks and all, but I didn’t sign up for—”

“To inoculate against infection,” Red snaps, clearly impatient. “I like it bare.”

He might say something else after that, but the roaring in Poe’s ears means he doesn’t hear a word of it. Not that it matters, given his next action is to yank Red into a messy, sloppy, ravenous kiss. Their cocks, far more than just half-hard, bump against one another, and Poe is again on the verge of noping out of rational thought entirely. It’s like going into a deathspin in low atmosphere with no idea of whether or not he’ll be able to pull back out.

Red does it for him, taking Poe’s lip between his teeth and biting down. It’s just hard enough to hurt, no broken skin. Poe still gives him a wounded look, even as Red rolls his eyes.

“Shower first. Frottage later.”

His hopeful reply can’t be helped. “How about…frottage _during_?”

Another click of his tongue, but the hand about his wrist is strong and certain. Cheerfully Poe allows himself to be led into the ‘fresher, not bothering to hide his wonder at the airy layout, the straight sharp modern lines of black and white. He’d known the hotel to be an upscale one – that was why he’d hit its bar particularly early in his evening – but he marvels all the same.

“Engineers get paid well, I see.” Then he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Or is this on the company’s credits?”

“Neither option,” Red replies, frowning at his own reflection. “Just a gift to myself, for a job well done.”

“You build something real pretty, then?”

“No.” There’s something harsh in his words, hard and heavy. “But I will.”

It sits awkward between them, this sudden silence. But Poe feels no urge to leave. Not when he has his eyes on Red’s intriguing frame, tempting and taut. As he leans down, retrieving something from an anonymous black bag on the seat beside the vanity, Poe chuckles.

“You know, I feel like I’m at an audition, or something.”

Red gives him an arch look from under the pale sweep of long lashes. “Trust me, you’ve already passed the hard part.”

The prophylactic stims, fortunately, are prepackaged and sealed; Poe recognises the brand, knows how to administer it himself. “This is the good stuff,” he remarks to no one in particular, even as he eyes up the high end bottle of lubricant Red also set upon the vanity.

“Let’s just say I was inclined to splash out for a special occasion.”

Poe does his stim first, with only the slightest flinch of concern. Red follows, efficient in motion and disposal. Then he’s turning to the showerhead in its enclosed space. Seated as he is on its rim, Poe himself casts a longing look to the bath. They’re not something he gets access to, back at the barracks, and despite his haughty ways Red looks the type to enjoy a good long soak. Not only that, it reminds him of days on Yavin 4: hot and humid, the old wooden tub dragged out beneath Luke’s tree, with splashing and laughter and—

“Pilot?” Red’s voice cuts hard through faint memory. “You coming?”

“Not yet.” He says it comfortably, smirking in open tease. “Takes a bit more than just your skinny ass to get me off, Red.”

“Oh, I see.” With a dangerous glint in his eyes, he moves to snap the cubicle door closed. “If that’s your feeling on the matter, you can leave.”

A foot in the door, and Poe’s pulling it open against Red; again, there’s that odd hint of considerable strength. Then he’s in, crowding him against the far wall. Something presses into his hand, hard and smooth. Poe looks down, frowns at what Red’s given him.

“I would have preferred your cock.”

“No patience,” he says, eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Get started, would you?”

Poe’s had enough experience with military-style showers to see Red apparently knows them well himself; it’s awkward, at first, both of them too quick about something they want to take their time with. In the end Poe rolls his eyes, reaching between them with a palmful of the antiseptic-scented gloop Red had given him, and begins to rub it in Red’s hair.

He snaps around, frowning, a hand up to stop subs from stinging his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Enjoying myself.” There’s little point in hiding the wonder. “You really do have amazing hair.”

But when he glances down, he catches the end of some sort of battle, waged behind those bright pale eyes. “You’re not lying,” he says, very quiet. Poe could poke that, could delve deeper.

“Nope,” he says, instead, and ducks his head before looking up with what he’s been assured are perfect beseeching eyes. “Wanna do mine?”

“Haven’t you already?”

A shrug, and he grins too wide too lie. “You could always do it again.”

“Nope,” he echoes, perfect mimicry of Poe’s own words. But there’s no time for actual disappointment, because Red gets himself a handful first of the gloop and then of Poe’s crotch. Gasping, leaning forward, he stays upright only by splaying his palm against the tiles; he’s breathing hard right into Red’s ear, eyes clenched shut, and he can _hear_ the bastard smiling.

“Is my technique a little off, perhaps?”

Jerking his hips forward is his only reply, though Red hasn’t exactly wrapped his hand around Poe’s dick. And with the water coursing down both their bodies, there’s not a lot of friction. Red gives him no quarter to complain, turning his face so that his lips ghost across his stubbled cheek.

“You promised to last longer than this,” he murmurs, and Poe frowns.

“Did I? I don’t remember that.”

“You didn’t say it.” Now those lips press on his. “But then, you didn’t need to,” he says, barely above a whisper, soft incantation. “I saw it in you. When you first looked at me from across the room.”

He’d seen his ass first, actually – slim and round in those tight tailored trousers. Poe turns him now, already going down. It’s cramped in here, harder on his knees than the carpet or a bed would be, but he doesn’t care. He’s got his hands either side of that smooth bare skin, rounded and firm, and that’s all he cares about right this minute.

“How could I say no to this?” he asks of no one in particular. Moving forward, without pulling the cheeks apart, he nudges inward with first nose and then lips. There he pauses, and simply breathes him in. He can feel the faint vibration of something that might be suppressed laughter, and Poe’s shifting his fingers to get deeper when Red twists his hips, smacks him nearly in the eye with his dick.

“Oi!”

He just looks smug, like he goes around slapping perfectly reputable pilots in the face with his penis every day. “I’m amenable to a bit of ass-eating,” he says, and has the audacity to actually fake a small yawn. “But I want to do it on the bed.” Now his eyes glitter, bright and strange as the blue ice of a deep crevasse. “I enjoy the angle more, you see.”

Despite the fact Red is patently being a dick, Poe gets out of the ‘fresher with a jaunty step. It falters a bit when Red insists he get back in and be dried off by the warm air function. By the time they’re both done Poe’s hair is fluffy and sticking out in all directions, and his cock would be whining if it had a voice of its own.

“You’re a mess,” Red observes, almost affectionate. Poe can’t resist retaliating with his own hands in that hair.

“So are you,” he says, but can’t help adding, “Is it real?”

Faint affront purses his lips. “What do you think?”

Looking down, Poe squints at the cock he finds there. Even with the hair cut short, it’s burnished and bright. And he pauses too long, and smirks when Red actually flicks his ear. “I think that if you don’t go lie down on that bed you mentioned, you might have to put up with me sucking your dick right here and now.”

A hum, more amusement than disapproval, and Red’s leading the way to bed. Poe follows the sway of his ass like a dog on a leash, and doesn’t even care how he looks. He’s got a much better view besides, when Red arranges himself neatly on the bed: face-down, head propped up on folded arms, legs opened. Poe climbs up behind him, spreading those cheeks perhaps a little too eagerly. But there he marvels. It’s clean and pink, his skin smooth and soft. He tries not to notice that it’s not the same on his back. There’s a story writ there, in faint silvery scars. Poe knows better than to ask.

Moving in, he starts with a thoughtful lick from the place where balls meet skin. Still he reaches the hole somewhat quicker than he had intended. It twitches beneath his lips, and all thought of the teasing he’d planned evaporates like rain. With hunger he licks into him, pressing his face deep, curling fingers in bruising grasp about the crests of Red’s jerking hips.

He hasn’t got any lube, but there’s enough spit that he can get his fingers damp. Above him, Red’s keening, thrusting arrhythmic and desperate; Poe doesn’t even get to reach around and jerk him off before he’s shuddering, coming hard just from the friction of sheets and the tongue up his ass.

Still, Poe finds some satisfaction as he pulls back, chest heaving, face damp, dick so hard it actually hurts. Admiring the line of his long spine, it’s hard to resist the urge to just take himself in hand, to spill all over it. But he doesn’t get the chance, either way; with a short sigh of breath, Red rolls over onto his back. There he lies, eyes closed, breath evening out. He says nothing.

“Wait.” When Poe shifts his own weight, his dick brushes his own thigh, prompting a hissing breath. “Red. Is that it?”

He cracks one eye open. “What? I got what I wanted.”

“I—” Pausing doesn’t help clarify the depth of this level of bullshit. “What the _hell_.”

He actually sniggers, letting his eye fall closed again. “Idiot,” he mutters, and despite the perfect modulated accent it’s not quite cruel. Rolling over on his side, he reveals the dip and curve of the slim body as an open invitation. “Go get the lube, and get back in here.”

It’s an invitation Poe doesn’t need extended twice. It’s the work of a moment to go back to the ‘fresher and return, already popping the cap as he does so. When Poe presses up behind him, Red’s hand slips under his own, pulling his crotch hard against his hips. For a moment Poe lets his slippery cock rest in the heat there, half-buried in the crease of his ass.

And Red gives a low sigh, almost a whine. “I don’t need much.” He shifts his hips, petulant demand. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

It’s almost too easy to slip in, but no the less pleasurable for it. Buried to the hilt, Poe pulls back hardly at all; he starts with only slow short strokes, mouth pressed against the nape of his neck. There’s a strong scent of antiseptic still, but it can’t quite mask that there’s something richer, saltier beneath.

Red allows this languid pace only for a moment or so. Then he’s half moving back, keeping Poe’s dick still in him all the while. He doesn’t stop until he’s forced Poe over and onto his back. Shifting his own weight, Red adjusts himself until he’s laid his whole weight back on Poe – not that it’s much to bear. With legs spread, one hand coming to lay across Poe’s chest, Red curls the hand around his head. Turning his face permits a kiss, slow, almost too sensuous; there’s barely any movement of hips and yet Poe teeters dangerously close to climax. In return he curves his own hands about the thin ribcage, lets him move, smiling against tongue and lips even as he prays he doesn’t come too soon.

Red’s lazy, going slack first; it’s Poe who picks up the speed, fucking up into him as Red arches his back, sighs. Spreading his hands over that chest, he tilts his head to lick at one nipple, before following with a pinch. Even as Red struggles on a startled breath his hand shifts down, between his thighs. Fingertips ghost over the place where they join, as if he’s afraid it’s not real.

And Poe struggles to catch his own breath, words choppy and gasping. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” Red’s own words sound dreamy, distant. “But it could.”

“Not really my thing, Red.” He slows, just a little. “Sorry.”

“I figured.” This time he sounds closer – and he’s moving, again, pushing his slight weight back down as Poe rises up to meet him. But even as Poe quickens again, Red’s hand doesn’t move. Instead one finger presses more insistently where cock slides into hole, and then: it slides in, hard and warm against Poe. Another joins it, Red fingering himself even as Poe continues to fuck into him.

“…what are you doing?”

“I kind of wanted two, tonight.” The sigh that follows holds regret, but not remorse. “Still…this is…nice.”

“Only _nice_?”

A snort, and Red rises up – in fact, he pulls off entirely. Poe’s regretting his smart mouth even as Red’s hand closes around his own dick, slicking himself anew. “Turn over.”

“What?”

Said dick is already hard again, impossible as it sounds. “I’ve changed my mind.” Imperious as his accent, Red nods at the bed. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

Some sensible part of him tells him to say no. Poe rolls over anyway. “Why are you so bossy?” he complains, and Red smack him hard on one cheek.

“Comes natural,” he replies, sounded nearly distracted. Poe strains back to see what’s going on, gets another slap for his troubles. “Why, do you not like it?”

Clever fingers already open him up for Red’s dick, even though this isn’t typically Poe’s preferred position. An engineer, he’d said. It makes sense. Turning his head to the side, cheek pressed hard into the sheets, he speaks half-muffled and slow. “I could get used to it.”

“Don’t,” Red advises, even as he pulls Poe’s hips up, rubbing his cock over ass and hole. Teetering on the verge of telling him to get the hell on with it, Poe releases a hissed breath instead, a flash of pain chittering up his spine as Red moves in.

“You all right there, Pilot?”

Grimacing, he wiggles his hips a little, trying to school himself into bearing down even as his body instinctively clenches up. “Just a bit of turbulence.” Gritting his teeth, he breathes through his nose, stutters out a laugh. “We can push through.”

That snort, again. But he pauses, doesn’t move; it’s Poe who rises in the end, pushing his hips up to take Red right in. Red allows a few strokes there, Poe’s hips still high, his ass back. Once they’ve both eased into it, he begins to gentle him down. When Poe’s flat against the mattress, long fingers splay over his ass, thumbs pressing into the low divot of his back. And the pace quickens. Poe groans his approval as one hand slides up, pressing down on the side of his head, pushing him down. Gasping, Red presses a deeper stroke. The other hand shifts to his shoulder, harder now.

It’s possibly natural that Red comes before he does, and hard; half-laughing beneath him, Poe gasps, “That’s two orgasms you owe me now, Red.”

And he’s so, _so_ close to the first. But Red pulls out, rolls over again. Poe lies beside him, stunned, body still alight with little sparks that beg to be fanned into full inferno flame. But when he looks to his right, the man there isn’t moving. He props himself up on one elbow, and still there is no response. His dick throbs unhappily, and there’s nothing again from the man beside him.

“…Red?”

“Hush.” His expression changes not a whit. “Sleeping.”

“…oh, _fuck_ , no.”

“It’s my room.” The way he speaks sounds like the way he’d fold his arms across that narrow chest. “So: get out.”

Poe manages to keep himself very still and very silent for maybe ten seconds. Then, deliberately, he rolls up and over, arms braced either side of Red’s shoulders. From there he lowers down, but does not allow them to touch – save for where his cock brushes the soft little swell of Red’s stomach, pre-come beaded on its tip.

“You don’t want me to leave.”

Those eyes stay closed. “I’m sleeping.”

“Liar.” Poe whispers this against his lips, with just a hint of teeth. “I’ve known you two hours, and even I don’t believe you’d go to sleep without a shower first.”

A snort, and Red opens them again. Strong hands close on his shoulders, pushing him up, then back on his heels. He’s crouching when he turns, and he slides in so easy. With a hand hooked around Poe’s neck, he leans his own head back, eyes closed. Poe can almost taste his satisfaction, sweet smug salt. And Red breathes slow, long – but the twist of hips and his clenching heat are vicious and knowing. Poe gasps, spills into him; he’s boneless when Red lifts off, but still he reaches out, catches him about the neck, draws him close so their foreheads touch.

“That was nice,” he breathes, soft. “But you still owe me one more.”

“Mmm.” A kiss, and one hand moves thoughtfully over his spent dick. It still twitches with traitorous interest. “Get in that shower, flyboy.”

Despite his insistence on keeping score, Poe’s too tired to do anything about it when they make it there. Besides, Red is quick, efficient about his ablutions this time; he steps out first, long before Poe’s roused himself to do much more than stand under the spray.

“Stay a bit longer, if you like.” Without waiting for an affirmative answer Red pads across the room, hair wet, towel around the thin waist. Poe would’ve indulged himself longer anyway. Eventually he dries off, returns to the bedroom to find Red smoothing over freshly laid sheets.

“…you didn’t call housekeeping?”

His glance upward could have withered even the hardiest tropical vine. “You don’t know how to make a bed?”

“I…”

Tucking in the last of the sheet, military neat, Red allows himself the smallest of smirks. “You can stay, if you like.” One tilt of the head has Poe glancing down to his own crotch. “I’m leaving early in the morning, but I’ll suck you off before I go.”

He looks back up with one highly arched brow. “And then stiff me with the bill, I suppose?”

That earns him a smothered snort; if Poe hadn’t known better, he would have said it is almost a giggle. “If I hadn’t paid already, perhaps I would.” When he steps close he does it silently, one foot before the other, directly registering one into the next. “I’ll remember that for next time,” he says, eyes locked on Poe’s own. He swallows hard before he can speak again.

“Next time?”

“Yes.” It’s not quite a kiss, but Red’s lips brush his own when he whispers, “The next time I pick up some pretty piece of pilot ass in a nice hotel.”

On a wave of Poe’s laughter, Red returns to the ‘fresher, presumably to dry his hair. Poe’s still faintly surprised he allowed it to drip like that for so long. For his own part, he leaves the bedroom for the main room again. At the small bar, he eyes the rainbow of liquors for only a moment; a glass of water is all he really needs. His clothes get only the sparsest glass. There’s no point in dressing, not if he’s getting a round two soon enough, but he moves to rummage in one jacket pocket anyway. The necklace he withdraws is one he’s rarely without, the chain familiar and cool against his skin.

Back in the room, Poe finds Red still hasn’t returned. It appears he likes his rooms on the cooler side; goosebumps shiver across Poe’s exposed skin, now he hasn’t got that lovely ass for distraction. Glancing about, he supposes this is a nice place; they likely have complimentary robes for guests, perhaps even nightshirts. He opens the wardrobe, and then stops dead.

He’s still standing there when Red comes up behind him. Neither of them say a word. There’s just the sound of slow breath, the low hum of the air recycler. And then Red speaks, not a shred of emotion in the question.

“What are you doing?”

Poe’s eyes do not move from the uniform, pressed and perfect on its hangar. “You’re First Order,” he says, very quiet. The silence he gets in return is so absolute that for a moment he entertains the idiot thought that Red has actually turned around, and walked away.

Then, he sighs. “It’s a bit late for regrets.” His tone is faintly rough, that pitch-perfect Imperial accent wearing thin around its sharpest edges. “We’ve already fucked, if you recall.”

Looking back, now, Poe feels the burn of his mother’s ring against his chest. Red himself doesn’t wear any ID tags, but Poe supposes they might just implant them now. And he speaks without thinking, the first words that came to his lips.

“I’m from Yavin 4.”

A blink, and Red’s expression changes, darkens. While not quite unkind, there’s a cynicism to it that suits him well, for all Poe hasn’t seen it on Red’s face before now. “Yes, well, I was born on Arkanis.” Shifting his weight from one foot to the next, he adds with pointed nonchalance, “So you haven’t exactly cornered the market on war-torn childhoods there, I’m afraid.”

“An Academy boy, then?”

There’s a spasm of – _something_ on his face, then. It’s gone before Poe has the slightest hope of identifying it. “In a manner of speaking.” His words are clipped, again, careful and cutting. “This doesn’t have to be as awkward as you’re making it.”

“You said you were an engineer.” It bursts out of him, accusing, not a tone he’s used to. He also doesn’t like how it makes his voice sound. Again the redhead sighs, the sound treading a fine line between exasperated and ashamed.

“I _am_ an engineer.” His gaze sharpens, as if some invisible switch has flicked inside his mind. “But yes, I’m an officer.”

“A lieutenant.”

He nods, slow. “You have a good eye.” His lips curl at just the one corner. “But then, I already knew that.”

And Poe turns away. “I should go.”

Red says nothing, lips pressed tight together. He doesn’t make any effort to stop him, but he doesn’t move out of his way either. They brush shoulders, and then Poe is back in the main room alone. Dressing is quick, rough; he’ll certainly look like he’s doing a walk of shame when he goes through the lobby. But he’s done plenty of those before. And they’ll never know how deep the shame actually goes, this time.

“Wait.”

With hand hovering above the door panel, Poe does. Not that he says anything.

“Army.” It’s blurted out, just a shade too high. “My name’s Army.”

Incredulity has him turning, slow and startled. “ _Army_ ,” he repeats, and then he licks dry lips, finds it hard to start again. “…Red, that has to be the _worst_ fake name I’ve ever heard. Lieutenant Army of the First Order engineering corps. Like, _really_?”

At first, there’s just silence. “Fine.” It’s stiff, and before Poe’s eyes his back straightens, Red looking down his long nose with considerable dignity despite the fact he’s naked yet. “Well. Goodbye, then.” A pause, and then, like he can’t help it: “Black Leader.”

It’s a mistake. But Poe ignores that in favour of the taste of him. It must have been the water he’d drunk earlier, because it reminds him of rain. Withdrawing, he raises an eyebrow, resists the urge to tangle his fingers in that extraordinary hair one last time.

“Take care, Red,” he says, instead. “It’s a big black void, out there.”

“You think I don’t already know that?”

And Poe just shakes his head. “I think you know that.” But he’s barely halfway through the doorway when Red speaks again.

“I still owe you one.”

He pauses, doesn’t look back. “Consider it a gift.”

“I always repay my debts.”

One glance, over his shoulder, is all he allows himself. It doesn’t seem to matter that in reality it’s all that he can afford. “It’s a freebie, Red. From me to you.”

Those lips press tight, again. There are no words. Poe still waits for the door to hiss closed between them. Only then does he slope back to the elevator, finding himself thankfully alone when he thumbs the button for the ground level. Leaning back, closing his eyes, he abruptly wishes he were sharing his room, tonight. But then, he still could. It’s not late. He could start over.

When he crawls under the rented covers an hour later, he does so alone. New beginnings are never that simple. With fingers closed light about the ring, he allows himself the faintest, bitterest smile. He’d been born after the war, she’d said. Things could be different, she’d added. For him. For all of them.

Now he closes his eyes, waits for another day, and knows better.

**Author's Note:**

> ...and if you got this far, dude. Thank you. Have a preview of the next part for your troubles.  <3
> 
> _It’s both too long and too quick a walk before his escort shoves him into a feeder corridor. Narrow and thin, he must walk in front with the ‘trooper and his blaster at his back; Poe barely has a second to consider where the elevator at its end might go when a voice snaps out behind them both with whipcrack precision._
> 
> _“Thank you, ‘trooper. I’ll take him to Commander Ren from here.”_
> 
> _The ‘trooper actually pauses. “…sir?”_
> 
> _The voice had already been chill. Now, it is outright gelid. “You have your orders.”_
> 
> _“Sir.” This time, the title’s spoken with clear certainty. There’s something of a shuffle behind them, one exchanging for the other; Poe supposes he should make some attempt at bolting for it, despite how impossible circumstances are. But then there’s a gloved hand in the small of his back, shoving him forward; it’s leather rather than plasteel, and either way more comfortable than the barrel head of a blaster._
> 
> _They stop only once they reach the closed lift doors. Poe turns without being asked. He already knows what he’ll see. It’s not like he’d forgotten the voice, even before he’d started hearing it spouting off endless soundbites from the Order manifesto._
> 
> _And he smiles, not knowing if it’s mocking or genuine. “Red.”_
> 
> _“Shut **up**.” And he’s but a moment from him, fists balled and hard, lips curved so far down they pull the entire shape of his face out of alignment. “How could you let this happen?”_
> 
> _Poe just blinks. “I didn’t ask for this,” he offers – and then, because he’s never been able to help himself. “It’s not **my** fault you trained your men to be so capable when razing villages and capturing hostages.”_
> 
> _“I – oh, I don’t have the time for this.” And he glances back, eyebrows drawn together like he’s getting a migraine. Poe’s more preoccupied by the fact that the stupid little command cap hides the red hair he’s not seen in person in years. “I’ve made a terrible mistake,” the general mutters, as if reading his thoughts; Poe does the innocent blink again, much as he knows it won’t work._
> 
> _“What mistake?”_
> 
> _“This!” It’s something of a small victory to see him actually press three fingers to one temple. “Pfassking hell, I remember you being reckless, but not an outright **idiot**.”_
> 
> _He kind of wishes he’d not said that. The heat of inappropriate memory flushes through him, heart to heart to groin, and he fights to remind himself that this man is General Armitage Hux, co-commander of this rumoured – **real** – flagship of the First Order. He is rarely out of the company of Kylo Ren, or so the stories go; while Kylo Ren is seen throughout the galaxy, General Hux holds his base. These are the briefs Poe has been given as Black Leader, wing commander of Black Squadron. He’s seen the general in holos, both Republic intelligence and Order propaganda. He should just be a ghost, someone known only through such secondhand information._
> 
> _But Poe has seen him naked. Has **known** him naked. He’d recognised him, of course, when Hux had first started showing up in intelligence reports when he’d still been just a captain. Poe had wondered if Hux would recognise him in turn. He supposes he has his answer, now._
> 
> _“I guess I should say sorry for telling you Army’s a stupid name,” he says, almost cheerful. “But you know what? Armitage really **is** a stupid name.”_
> 
> _The scowl he gets is frankly magnificent. “I should let him have you,” Hux hisses, furious; Poe’s only got one response to that._
> 
> _“So why don’t you?”_


End file.
